It's My Life
by Bobbie
Summary: Faye fled the Bebop to turn over a new leaf. Spike throws a wrench into her plans. *COMPLETE*...P.S.: Made a few changes, but the story is still the same.
1. I Don't Hate Her

Disclaimer:  Spike is all mine.  Really, he is.  Bandai decided to just...give him to me.  Honest!

::sighs:: Okay, okay.  He's not mine.  And neither are any of the other CB characters.  ::pout:: Geez.  I'm just borrowing 'em.  Promise to return them intact.

'Cept Spike.  ::gets smacked with a lawsuit::  Alright!  Don't you guys have _ANY_ sense of humor?!

**Chapter One:**

I Don't Hate Her 

"Spike…don't do this."

"What?"  The younger of the two kept his back to his partner as he idly dressed, his head bowed as long, deft fingers worked on the row of buttons on his shirt.

Jet growled, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing.  A brief moment passed before he sighed wearily, averting his gaze to the floor.  "She thinks you died."

Spike fetched his knotted tie, throwing it around his neck and turning around to look down on Jet.  Hands moved to the waist of his pants, tucking in his shirt and fixing his belt.  He shrugged, unable to keep his gaze fixed for too long.  "So?"

"So it's damn cruel.  It's Faye, for Chris' sake."  Jet continued to scowl at him, hoping that at some point, Spike would come to his senses.

"And that's supposed to mean something?"  He was rolling up his sleeves now, the muscles of his jaw clenching rhythmically.  He descended the steps to fetch his jacket, flung haphazardly over the back of the couch, punching his arms into the sleeves emphatically.

Jet shook his head, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.  "I don't get you, kid.  There's absolutely no sense in what you're doing!  You're just going to end up hurting her…"  Jet let his words trail off in grim realization.  Tilting his head up, he cocked a brow at Spike.  "What, do you hate her or something?  You broke her heart once already, you know that, right?"

Spike stood silently at the opposite end of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling at his side.  His face was unreadable, but contemplative.

_Where are you going?  Why do you have to go?_

Gunshots echoed within the recesses of his mind, mingled with the anguished sobs of a woman that he had thought could never cry, let alone cry over him.  He moved then, shaking himself from his reverie to see Jet staring at him warily.  He fetched a cigarette from his breast pocket, balancing it between his lips.  "I don't hate her, Jet."

Jet perked up, eyebrows raising, brow furrowing. "Huh?"

Spike lit up, taking in a long drag as he returned his lighter to his pocket, pivoting on his heel towards the corridor that would take him to the hanger.  Speaking as though to himself, he murmured, "I don't hate her at all."


	2. A Visit from a Dead Man

Disclaimer:  See Chapter One.

**Chapter Two:**

**A Visit from a Dead Man**

She shifted the groceries precariously in her aching arms, fishing for her keycard, her shoulder leaning heavily upon her apartment door.  Swiping the card just as her bundle was about to give way, she twisted the doorknob and stumbled across the threshold, slightly breathless, and bent to settle her bags upon the floor.  Sighing, she brushed the wrinkles out of her blouse, kicking the door shut with the heel of her foot.  "Susan!  I'm home!  The crowd at the market was just ridiculous today…"  She grunted slightly as she stooped to reclaim her bags and take them to the island bar only a few feet away.  "Must be the low prices on the fish.  I got myself a hell of a bargain!"  Brushing a few errant violet strands from her face, she began to unload the groceries, pausing when she didn't get a reply. 

"Susan?"  Canting her head to the side, she listened, and thought that, perhaps, she heard voices coming from the living room.  Wary, she crept around the bar, canned goods in both hands, meandering through the dining room to a short hallway.  She paused.  Laughter.  And a man's voice.  What the…?

"Susan…?"  She slowly entered the living room, wondering just what kind of door-to-door salesman had suckered her elderly sister this time.  Susan, eyes shining, glanced up, her smile widening.  "Faye!  You're home early."

Faye's eyes narrowed, moving from her sister to the back of the man seated upon the sofa.  He'd yet to turn and face her, though he'd grown oddly silent since she'd interrupted the little conversation.  Susan continued to beam from her rocker across from him, one rheumatic hand clutching her cane, the other resting upon an armrest.  

"Susan, what's going on?" Faye asked, not once taking her eyes off the man.  Funny, she thought.  Something about that hair…

Susan pointed to the guest with her cane, prodding him.  "Go on, boy.  She's who you're here to see, after all."  She bobbed her eyebrows at Faye, chuckling at a joke it seemed only she knew.

Faye was instantly on guard, taking a step back, prepared to use the cans of vegetables in her hands as weapons if need be.  A surprise visitor, for her?  Nope, definitely not a good thing.  "What is this?"  Her voice was low, menacing.

The man stood, slowly, and Faye took the time to absorb every detail.  It was as if the world clicked to slow motion.  He was tall, and thin, almost painfully so; his suit had obviously seen better days, faded and worn from what had once probably been navy to more of a cornflower blue.  As he straightened, he slipped his hands into his pockets, assuming a stance that sent chills up and down her spine.  And then, of course, was the hair, a fuzzy, haphazardly kept green mess that begged for a barber's touch.  The few seconds it took for her to recognize him seemed like an eternity, and she hoped that she was reaching until the last moment, when at last he turned around, a lop-sided smirk plastered upon his face.  Wide, glassy eyes met his mismatched, hooded gaze, and in that moment, she could've sworn she was losing her mind.

"Hello, Faye."

The cans fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump, both hands cupping her mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped.  Susan finally stopped smiling.

"Faye?  Faye, honey, what's wrong?"

Faye didn't notice the tears that welled up and spilt over her cheeks as she lowered her trembling hands.  Keeping her eyes riveted to the man before her, she spoke to Susan, her voice surprisingly calm in spite of her inner turmoil.  "Sue, could you go to the kitchen and start putting some of the groceries away?  There are some things that need to be put in the fridge."

Having already gotten to her feet, Susan gave her sister a fretful once-over before making her way slowly towards the kitchen, mumbling under her breath about how she hadn't changed a bit, still ordering her little sister around.  

Faye waited until her sister was well out of earshot before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper, but no less harsh or menacing.  "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my home?"

Spike frowned.  This wasn't exactly the reception he'd expected.  Then again, he hadn't known what to expect, given the circumstances.  He had to admit, the tears threw him a bit.  As did the rest of her.  She wasn't the same Faye he'd come to know on the Bebop three years earlier.  Her hair was longer, framing her face and coming to rest just past her shoulders.  Gone were the yellow hot pants.  Instead she wore a form-fitting white tailored blouse, the cuffs rolled to just above her elbows, and rough silk taupe pants, modest matching boots completing the ensemble.  She looked…respectable.  He didn't think he'd ever seen her in so many clothes.

"Well?  Are you gonna answer me, dammit?"  Her hands had clenched into fists at her sides, though more tears and a cracking voice betrayed her coarse display.

Brows raised, he fished in his pocket for a cigarette, bringing it to his mouth, letting it dangle between his lips as he spoke, one hand fetching his lighter from his pants pocket. "You know damn well who I am, Faye."

She seemed to actually growl then, and in two strides, she had crossed the room ripping the cigarette from his mouth then following it with a resounding slap to the side of his face.  The force knocked his head to the side and stung her hand.  A sob broke through, just before she could cup a hand over her mouth.  Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take deep breaths.  _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry_….

Spike brought a hand to his cheek, a crease forming between his eyebrows.  Grinding his teeth to subdue the anger that welled up in response to her outburst, he shoved his hand into his pocket, narrowed eyes watching her, his curiosity not so easily subdued.  "I suppose you think I deserved that somehow."

Were it not for the sofa separating them, she could have sworn she'd already have pounced him and wrapped her hands around his scrawny neck.  To finish the job the Syndicate obviously had failed to accomplish.  Keeping her eyes closed, she bowed her head, hands resting on the back of the sofa to support her, suddenly unable to trust her legs.  Shocks of violet fell forward, creating a curtain for her to hide behind.  "Get out."

The command came out as a raspy whisper, muffled by the lump in her throat, the tears in her voice.  When he didn't move to obey her immediately, she threw her head back, crying out to the room, as though she were speaking to an invisible entity and not a real person standing right in front of her.  "Get out of my home!  Get out, get out!"

Spike's countenance was blank, thinking that perhaps he'd misheard her at first.  When she began screaming at him, he backed away from her warily, caught off guard by her maliciousness.  "Faye, what—"

Her hands covered her ears, blocking him out as she continued to shout. "Get out, you're dead!  Get out, and don't come back!  Leave me alone!  Leave me alone!"  She'd slowly backed herself into a corner of the living room, sliding to the floor in a sobbing heap, still screaming at him when she could catch her breath. 

Frantic, but nearly angry enough to overlook her fits, Spike cursed, pivoting away from her and hastening out of the living room, blowing past a bewildered Susan, who was in the process of going to check on her panicking sister. 

 "What--? What have you done to Faye?  Faye!"

Spike paused at the door long enough to cast an apologetic glance to Susan, who held a splayed hand over her chest, her brow crinkled even more with worry.  "Tell her…tell her I'm sorry.  Okay?  Just tell her that."

"But—"

He never gave her time to respond, having already disappeared through the door.


	3. Guessing Game

Disclaimer:  See Chapter One.

**Chapter Three:**

**Guessing Game**

"I told you so."

Spike didn't say anything in return, merely glowered at Jet from his seat on the couch, an ice pack held against the side of his face.

Jet chuckled, leaning forward to flick the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray on the table in between them.  Shaking his head, he reclined into the cushioned chair, one arm dangling over the back.  He tilted his head back to exhale a puff of smoke into the air, regarding his partner with mirth shining in his gaze.  "Be glad that's all you got."

"You knew she'd react like this?" Spike glared accusingly at the older man.

Jet shrugged, bringing his cigarette to his mouth for another drag.  "I had an idea.  You hurt her, Spike.  Should've just left well enough alone.  She'd moved on, was probably ready and willing to forget all about us, about her life aboard the Bebop."  He sighed, letting his head fall back to gaze contemplatively at the ceiling fan.  "When she left, I knew she had a good reason.  Just didn't think she'd found a sister."

Spike tilted his head, wincing at the ache his movement caused.  In a fit of rage he suddenly stood, hurling the ice pack across the room.  "Goddammit!"  Pivoting, he soundly kicked the corner of the couch, the new pain dulling the old.

"Hey, hey!  Don't take it out on my ship." Jet warned, trying his best to hide his amusement at Spike's outburst.  He eyed him warily as the younger man paced, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  A smile teasing one corner of his mouth, he finished his cigarette, smashing it out and standing to stretch.  Placing his hands on his hips, he continued to watch Spike be angry, before his curiosity finally got the best of him.

"Alright, Spike, what the hell is eating you?  I told you not to go see her.  I mean, the chances of even having crossed paths with her again were monumental…Dirty water under an old bridge, my friend.  So what's the deal?  Why'd you do it?"

Spike didn't answer him, merely continued his pacing with renewed fervor, glaring sidelong at Jet occasionally.  Jet crossed his arms, cocking a brow questioningly.  When he still got no answer he decided upon another strategy.

"Fine, you want to play charades?  We'll play.  I'm pretty damn good at it, if I say so myself."  He settled himself once again upon the cushioned chair, leaning back and keeping a keen eye upon Spike.  "Let's see…Why the hell would Spike uproot his lazy butt off my couch to go see Faye Valentine, of all people?  Hmm…"

Spike's eyes shifted uneasily towards Jet, his steps slowing, but not stopping.

"Well, like I said before, perhaps you wanted to hurt her, for God only knows what reason.  Something you obviously accomplished with flying colors, I might add."  He chuckled at that, causing Spike to glower at him once more.

"Or perhaps you thought you'd be doing a good deed by letting her know that you're alive."  Jet paused, his eyes rolling back in his head to stare at the ceiling, one finger tapping his chin pensively.  "Sounds better, but, one has to wonder, why the hell you'd want to do that.  If I remember correctly, seems to me you were more than eager to be rid of that 'shrew woman' on more than one occasion."  Again, another pregnant pause, in which Jet's gaze shifted towards Spike once more.  "Unless…"

"Can it, Jet," Spike hissed, finally pausing to stand with his back to the room.

"You miss her."

Silence.

Jet blinked, lips parted in mild shock.  "Holy shit."

"You know, Jet, you're really beginning to piss me off."  With a final scowl in Jet's general direction, Spike stomped out of the room, once again headed for the hanger.  He had no destination in mind; he just knew he had to get the hell out of there.


	4. Reunion

Disclaimer:  See Chapter One.

**Chapter Four:**

**Reunion**

She couldn't believe it.  Three years.  To her, he'd been dead for that long.  As far as she was concerned, he was still dead.  She couldn't live, thinking that he was alive somewhere, hunting bounties, being cocky and reckless.  Couldn't live with the thought of ever bumping into him again.

God damn him for coming into her life.  God damn him for coming to her home, expecting anything other than what he got.

And god damn her heart for making her weep at the sight of him, alive and well.

She really shouldn't be doing this.  It was clear she'd made her point to him earlier, screaming like a banshee and nearly giving her sister a heart attack.  Being as stubborn as she'd known him to be, though, she knew he'd try again to contact her, for whatever selfish reasons he might have.  If there was to be a reunion of any sort, it would be on her terms.  She wouldn't allow herself to be caught off guard again.

It was so unreal, all of this.  As though she were dreaming, right then, on her way to the docks in a taxi, on her way to confront a dead man, a forgotten life.  Perhaps, in a way, she was dreaming, and after this, she would wake up.  Wake up for good.

"That's it, right there," she mumbled to the driver, green orbs taking in the sight of the Bebop looming above the docks just ahead.  The cabbie nodded, pulling up to the pier.

She stood for a time, just staring up at the mammoth of a ship, a ship that had been her home for countless, tumultuous months.  She'd had nothing to lose then, hadn't a care in the world, had nothing to fear.  At least, that's what she'd thought.

And then that son of a bitch had to go on a suicide mission.  Hell of a wake-up call, there. She'd sort of known all along that's she'd cared for Spike, and it had scared her to think that she'd fallen for him.  Stupid, stupid girl.  It would have been easier to love Jet.  So much easier.

But who said life was ever easy?

****

Spike emerged from the shadows of the hanger, squinting in the afternoon sun as he made his way to the Swordfish.  He was mumbling to himself, cursing Jet and his wild assumptions, scorning Faye and her fragile grip on reality, and admonishing himself for ever getting hooked up with the two.  He was too caught up to notice the silent form watching him from the edge of the deck.

"So, did you find out?"

Spike had been about to climb into the cockpit of his ship, one foot raised, when her voice rang out.  He froze, slowly lowering his foot, blinking several times before bowing to peer beneath his ship towards the source.

She'd donned a jacket that matched her pants, the sash tied securely about her narrow waist.  An emerald green silk scarf peeked out beneath the lapels, matching the color of her eyes.  She began walking towards the ship, almost reluctantly, he noticed.  He straightened, walking around the obstacle that separated them; eyes narrowed as he gauged her approach, not so much from anger as from the sunlight.  A soft breeze stirred her hair, and he decided, off-handedly, that he definitely like this look better than the old one.  She kept her hands in her pockets as she neared him, her eyes hidden behind chic sunglasses, her pouty mouth drawn into a pensive line.  She stopped when a few feet stood between them, close enough for her not to have to shout, but not close enough for him to reach out and touch her.

"Well, did you?"  Her voice was different than he remembered.  Subdued, svelte.

He shook his head, shrugging, partly annoyed by her enigmatic prodding.  "What?"

She bowed her head, extracting her hands to remove her shades, canting her head to the side as she focused on him once more.  "Did you find out?  If you were alive?"

He seemed somewhat taken aback, having forgotten those words that he'd said to her, words that he'd thought would be his last.  He scoffed, giving away his surprise, lips parting slightly.

_What are you going to do?  Just throw your life away like it was nothing?_

_I'm not going there to die, Faye.  I'm going to see if I'm really alive. _

One corner of his mouth twitched, an almost unnoticeable smirk, as his hands slinked into his pockets.  He held his elbows out from his body, as if to show her evidence of that one truth.  "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

She smiled then, shaking her head as she squinted at him.  "Yeah.  I guess you are."

For one precious moment, they were the old Spike and Faye again, Goljo and Romani, cowboy and gambler, lunkhead and shrew woman.  He smiled down on her, hardly beaming, just grinning as though sharing a secret.  And she returned his smile, bittersweet as it was, with the tears beginning to again well up in her eyes.  Her smile faded as she put her sunglasses back on, brushing past him without another word.

He turned half-way, cocking his head to watch her head towards the hanger, back stiff, head held high.  He opened his mouth to call out to her, but thought better of it and shut his mouth again, letting his chin fall to his chest in defeat.  Now would be the perfect time to leave.

Which is why he turned about and followed after her.


	5. The Real Faye

Disclaimer:  See Chapter One.

**Chapter Five:**

**The Real Faye**

"Long time, no see, old man."

Jet paused in preparing his stir-fry, the wok in his hand hovering above the burner as he glanced over his shoulder, then at the entryway at the top of the stairs.  A woman, dressed in casual business attire and hiding behind designer shades and shocks of violet hair, beamed down on him, leaning upon the railing nonchalantly.

"Faye?"  His voice wavered, almost as though he doubted what he was seeing.

She straightened, removing her sunglasses carefully and placing them in her coat pocket, mischievous emerald eyes regarding him thoughtfully.  "In the flesh."  She locked gazes with him for one long moment, breaking the spell with a fluid gesture to the stove.  "Best tend to your dinner.  You've a guest, after all."

In a daze, Jet returned his attentions to the task at hand, giving the vegetables a final toss before turning off the burner.  Setting the wok down, he wiped his hands on his apron, turning around to watch her finish her descent into the main room.  My God, how she'd changed.  He was a little dumbstruck by it all; seeing her there, dressed as she was, looking….well, damn good, in his book.  Figures.  She was bound to clean up after leaving the Bebop.

"I see this place hasn't changed a bit," she commented wryly, giving a cursory glance to her surroundings as she approached him.  She stopped a foot short of where he stood, crossing her arms and putting her weight on one leg as she gave him a lengthy once over, hooded gaze traveling from his feet to his eyes.  "Neither have you, it seems."  Another smile, this one somewhat sad in its execution.

Jet blinked…once, twice, eyebrows raised.  His senses returning, ever so slowly, he shook himself out of it, his eyes darting around nervously as he searched for something to say.  His focus settling upon her again, her murmured, "Can't say the same for you."

She chuckled, but the mirth was brief, and she regained her composure sooner than he would have liked.  "Well," she began, breaking eye contact and leaning against the sink, "I'll take that as a compliment."  Crossing her arms, she bowed her head, her hair hiding her features, and for a moment, Jet thought she might have been crying.  Dumbfounded as he was, he did nothing, said nothing…merely waited.  

The seconds ticked by, and finally, she broke out of her trance, casting him a knowing glance and a wry smirk.  "It's good to see you again, Jet."  Her voice was almost a whisper.  She pushed away from the counter and closed the distance between them resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist in a gentle embrace.

He didn't know quite what to do.  Unable to think of anything else, he awkwardly returned her hug, one hand resting on her slim shoulder, the other splayed lightly upon her back.  "It's good to see you, too, Faye."

He thought her heard her sniffle and panicked.  Oh, God, she really was crying.  Now what?  She pulled back, though, before he could react, and he was somewhat relieved, swallowing dryly before anxiously clearing his throat.

"Listen, I, uh…"  She pivoted away from him, rounding the edge of the counter to put it between them, one hand quickly wiping at the wetness on her cheeks.  She laughed, but it sounded harsh, forced.  "I just wanted to…to thank you.  For putting up with me for as long as you did."

Jet frowned.  "Now, Faye, you don't have to—"

She raised a hand to silence him, still unable to meet his gaze.  "If there was any reason why I'd _want_ to remember anything about my time on the Bebop, it would be because of you."  She paused, leaning her elbows on the countertop, fidgeting with her fingernails, fighting the urge to bite them.  "You helped me, Jet.  You gave me a home, you took care of my ship, of me…and for that, I'll always be thankful."  She sniffled again, and Jet had to fight to keep his composure.

Fishing in her jacket pocket, she then produced a cash card, holding it up for him to see before sliding it towards him upon the countertop.  "Your remittance."

Jet cocked a brow at the card, arms crossed, then frowned down on her.  "Now, wait a minute—"

"It's nowhere near enough the amount I owe you, but, it'll have to do, for now."  She pushed herself away from her post, slow, deliberate steps moving her towards the center of the room.  She paused then, looking all around her, taking it all in, as though memorizing every last detail.  "Believe it or not, I sometimes miss this place."  She lowered her countenance, sighing heavily.  After a long moment, she canted her head, speaking to Jet over her shoulder.  "When I left three years ago, I never intended to see this ship, or you, again."

Jet's eyes fell, arms unfolding, dangling at his side.

She took a deep breath, tilting her head back, before pivoting to finally meet his gaze.  "This time I mean it, Jet.  I don't ever want to see you again.  I don't ever want to be on this ship again.  If you hear of me, pretend you didn't.  If you see me, pretend you don't recognize."  Her voice broke on the last syllable, her face crumbling as she let the sobs come. Jet moved to comfort her, but again, her hand came up, stopping him.  Another cupped her mouth, stifling her cries.  To Jet, it seemed like an eternity before she regained her composure enough to speak.  And it was in that time that he realized he'd never seen her cry before.

Swiping angrily at her tears with the back of her hand, Faye took a deep breath, red-rimmed gaze leveling with his.  "You have to understand, Jet.  I'm not the person I was then.  I have a family now."  At this, she smiled, even laughed, and this time, it was sincere. "Can you believe it?  I've got a family.  A family who cares about me.  A family who wouldn't understand if I told them about the life I led with you….and Spike.  I look back on it now and…" Again, her delicate features twisted into a look of pain, sending more tears to dampen her sodden cheeks as she turned her face away from him. A sob echoed throughout the room before she began again.  "I look back on it now and I can't believe the things I did.  The people I hurt.  And…"  She gestured uselessly, one hand waving in the air and she fought to speak around another sob.  "It's just harder to remember anything good about Faye Valentine, you know?  And, God, Spike…" She ground his name out to the ceiling, as though it physically pained her to say it.

Jet didn't think he could stand to watch much more of this.  He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, one hand upon the counter, partially supporting his weight.  His eyes were riveted to the pile of cooling vegetables on the stove, unable to look at her, his features devoid of any emotion.

"I came here to make a point, Jet."  Her voice was raw with emotion, but she'd stopped crying, at least.  He chanced a look in her direction and saw her staring down at the empty couch, as though imagining a scene from a different time, a different place.

Jet voice's came out sounding gruffer than he meant it to.  "Which is?"

She sighed wearily, her voice far-off.  "This is me.  The real Faye.  She was never on the Bebop.  She was never a bounty hunter.  She was never…"  She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears this time, though she was unable to rid of the quiver in her voice.  "She was never a cheat.  And she never, ever fucking heard of Spike Speigel."

Jet met her gaze and held it for as long as she would let him.  Because he knew it would be the last time he ever saw her.


	6. Talking to Ghosts

Disclaimer:  See Chapter One.

_What I choose to do_

_Is of no concern to you_

_And your friends._

Where I lay my head 

_May not be my home_

_But I will last_

_On my own._

_'Cause it's me_

_And my life._

_It's my life._

_All the world descends_

_In the palm of my hand_

_Not that you'd see_

_And I'm tired and bored_

_Of waiting for you_

And all those things 

_You never do_

_'Cause it's me_

_And my life._

_It's my life_

_It's my life._

DIDO

**Chapter Six:**

**Talking to Ghosts**

Spike had eavesdropped on the entire episode, hidden in the shadows of the corridor leading to the deck  He'd actually grimaced when she'd said his name, and he wondered, if things had turned out differently…if he'd have stayed instead of confronting Vicious…would things still be the same as they'd always been?

He didn't think so.

Soft footfalls brought his attention back to the present.  He pushed away from his post, propped up against the bulkhead, waiting in the shadows like some predator for its prey.  She emerged seconds later, shades in hand, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose as though she suffered from a headache.  He said nothing, merely watched as she wiped fresh tears from her cheeks and put on her sunglasses.  Taking a deep breath, she turned away from him, headed towards the exit.  He bit his lip, angry with himself for not being able to stop her, to say something and fix everything between them.  Perhaps because he knew that it was impossible.

"I take it you heard every word?"

He startled, surprised to see that she had paused in the shadows.  Her back still to him, she remained silent, obviously waiting for him to answer.  He stayed where he was, content to keep the distance.

"Yeah.  Every word."

There was a long pause, and Spike wondered if she expected him to elaborate, when she broke the silence, her voice strong and calm, cold and indifferent.  "Good."  So much different than what he'd heard only moments earlier.  For once, he was actually jealous of Jet.  At least he'd gotten a decent good-bye.

She was moving away again, disappearing further into the darkness.  He was fast on his way to fucking up again, and knew it.

"I never meant to hurt you, Faye."

She never even bothered to pause before she reached the door to the hanger, her reply full of biting cynicism.  "Yeah, well, you did."  With that, she slipped through the door, letting it fall closed with a resolute click that echoed throughout the corridor.

It took him less than fifteen seconds.

"Shit!"

****

The wind had picked up during her little visit, and it whipped her hair around her, drying her tears and drowning out the sound of her sobs.  She kept her back straight, head high, though it felt as though the weight of the world were crushing her.  It shouldn't feel this bad.  It shouldn't be this hard, dammit!

A shadow covered the sun, and she glanced up, taking in the gathering clouds.  Looking out over the horizon, she could see the approaching storm, and she wished then that she would've told the cabbie to wait.  Frustration quelled her sadness, and the sobs abated, for the moment.  Sighing, she picked up her pace, nearing the edge of the deck, not affording a second glance at the Swordfish.  The wind was really beginning to howl, then, but over the rush, she could make out a voice.  Someone was calling her name.

It was Spike.

The realization caused her to stumble, but she didn't stop.  She lengthened her strides, until she was nearly running, but he was too fast, and before long, she felt his hand gripping her elbow and spinning her around to face him.  She jerked her arm from his grasp, barking at him in her despair.  "What?  What the hell do you want?"

"Faye, I—"  In spite of his proximity, she had to fight to hear him above the wind.  She held her arm where he'd grabbed her, as though his touched burned her.

"Dammit, Faye, look at me, for Christ's sake!"

The muscles of her jaw clenched as she slowly raised her face towards him, her sunglasses still providing some cover.  He wasn't having it though, clutching her chin in one hand while the other ripped off the shades and tossed them overboard.  She gasped, suddenly and inappropriately angry for the loss of the accessories.  He didn't give her a chance to berate him, gripping her face between his palms and forcing her gaze to level with his.

"Look at me, Faye."  His voice held a determination that scared her, causing her eyes to widen slightly.  "I'm alive.  Alive, do you understand?  I'm—"

She began shaking her head, in spite of his hold on her, her eyes falling, the tears coming once again.  God, hadn't she cried enough for one day?  "No, you're not, Spike.  You're dead.  You're dead…."

He shook her, once, forcing her to focus on him again.  "No, I'm alive!  I didn't die, Faye!  You can keep telling yourself that for whatever reason, but I'm here.  I'm right here!"

She'd closed her eyes, her heart breaking all over again, wondering why he wanted to hurt her so much, her voice thick with tears.  "God, why are…why are you doing this to me?  Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He was still breathing heavily from his sprint to catch up with her, his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears.  The first rumbles of thunder were beginning to roll through the sky.  He leaned his forehead against hers, sharing her breath, watching her cry…because of him.  "Faye, I…I'm right here.  And I really am alive.  Awake…and alive."

She sniffled, one of her hands now clutching his wrist, though not moving to pry his hand from her.  Yep, he was definitely fucking up.  Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her, devouring, invading, pushing….and it seemed, for one brilliant moment, that she would let him, that she welcomed this intimacy.  For one brilliant moment, he believed every word he'd just said.

The moment ended all too soon, as she shoved him with a ferocity that surprised him, enough to cause him to stumble and fall onto the deck.

"How DARE you!  How DARE YOU!!"  Her screams tore through him, quicker and cleaner than any blade.  He made no effort to get up as she shuffled away from him, the gusts pelting her fragile form as she swiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  A childish effort to erase the taint of his kiss.  Swaying, she backed up to the edge of the deck, holding onto the railing, her knuckles white.  "You are dead to me, do you understand?!  Faye Valentine may have loved you once, Spike Speigel, but she died the day you left!  There is nothing here for me.  Nothing but a bunch of ghosts!"  Sobbing anew, she turned away from him, climbing up and over the edge, the sound of her descent lost in the encroaching storm.

Spike sat, rendered immobile by her words, until the first drops of rain caused him to stir.  Grimacing, he pushed himself to his feet, heavy steps carrying him to where she'd vanished over the edge.  He scanned the docks for her retreating form but saw no one.  She was gone.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, ignorant of the lightning or the thunder, or the rain that was meticulously soaking him through.  Reaching into his jacket, he felt for the butt of his gun, producing the weapon and pointing it to the sky.  He emptied his rounds into the storm, the sound of the gunfire lost in the cacophony surrounding him.

She was gone.  And he was dead.


End file.
